A trident? This would be Lamina's third match against such a weapon--so it would be an interesting experience indeed.
The gladiator girl had chosen a single weapon prior to ascending to the sands. Her trusty schiavona clung to her left hip, encased in a black metal scabbard. Halfway into her approach she drew the weapon into a delicate arc that'd end at her side, the weapon dropping into a limp swing to the motion of her arm, light of the setting sun reflecting brilliantly with each step until she arrived at the center, ten feet from her opponent.
"I'm ready. Try not to disappoint me, okay?" she spoke in an arrogant youthful tone that accented the cold emerald glare she had fixated upon the man's chest.

Lamina's response was just as tense and forceful as the trident's swing. As the man moved his weapon to his right side and advanced, she seized the opportunity to deliver a swift and sudden end to the fight as quickly as it had started.
At the start of the trident's swing, the smaller girl literally leaped forward, instantaneously closing the gap in range that her opponent had tried to take advantage of. Her timing was impeccable; as her foreword right foot reunited with the sand in a flurry of dust, the middle shaft of the trident struck hard against her Venetian blade's metal scabbard at her left hip. The leverage of the swing had been severely reduced due to the sudden decrease in range. With the force of the swing too little to upset her balance at it's already low target, but too much to reverse or fight against, Lamina secured both her advance into his guard as well as a preventative measure of his escape. Simultaneous with the clash, the girl's dainty left hand grasped tightly around the opponent's weapon and tugged with all her might, pulling both herself and her opponent into an unforgiving close-quarters from which she executed her counterattack. Mid-leap Lamina extended her right arm into a forward thrust that'd almost inevitably strike home as proximity closed as swiftly as the blade's deadly tip dashed forward to slip between a pair of ribs or the man's soft naval, whichever had been presented more conveniently for her devious and expertly pointwork.
It would be up to him to try not to die when she stabs him.

Lamina wasn't quite sure of the terms of this battle, given it's hasty start. In a real-world application of killing technique, she would have brought herself to a stop upon her right foot after the bound (after all, she didn't run into the jump, it was a long hop forward), twisted left and brought the edge of her sword to the opponent's legs. However, she instead performed a sort of flèche, a technique in fencing that involves a quick forward thrust and then a dash past the opponent's flank. Lamina instead adapted her approach to this situation by continuing to stride forward until just out of the opponent's reach, and then she twirled gracefully toward the man with legs and posture straight and feet together, her crimson-stained schiavona held stiff and diagonal before her. The stance was ceremonial and held little value to the duel.
"Is this first blood, or do you want to die instead? The terms are up to you but I would really think hard about coming at me again."

"If you want to be so careless with your life, then so be it."
Lamina certainly wasn't about to back down. She stood her ground, maintaining her poise as she clearly challenged the offense he seemed to be orchestrating. It was growing overwhelming to her little soul that so many chose to take her as seriously as they now did--to the point where there was no question between life or death. Of course, no emotional struggle born of having to kill yet again showed behind her unwavering glare.

So the trident descended in a swift diagonal path from Lamina's upper right intended to intercept the neck for an unforgiving attack. Lamina responded in a similar manner as before, though her technique was much different and capitalized on both the speed and precision of fencing in comparison to a pole arm, and the much shorter distance between the two combatants.
The fact of the matter is that a diagonal attack always left a small geometric window of opportunity, and one aimed at a target as small as the head or neck allowed even more room to react. What happened in response was very sudden and possibly unexpected, which was Lamina's intent. Again she dashed forward against the attack, though in doing so she descended into a crouch so low that her free left hand placed itself upon the ground to support her now forward leaning posture. Her sword, free in her right hand, thrust forward with both the killing force of her arm and the forward motion of her lissome body, its tip aimed to slip beneath the attackers weapon mid-swing and cleanly puncture the heart or ribs before the opponent could evade, break off a hand to deflect or redirect his swing. While crouching beneath the attack and leaning forward may seem desperate, proximity between the fighters had been taken to such close quarters that the blade was sure to hit home within the fraction of a second.
Fluidly executed, as this was, the passata-sotto was perhaps the fastest tactical offensive one could execute in traditional fencing -- unpredictable, deadly and the epitome of human agility.

A decent defense in theory, but unfortunately for Az, he had made a potentially fatal miscalculation in both distance and timing. By wielding the trident centrally he allowed both ends to come into play, increasing versatility. This, however, decreased the range he so heavily counted on. Az's initial swing to the neck came only from the right side of the trident and did not utilize it's full length. At this point in time both fighters were within what could be described as close range.
Az's defense wasn't the only pre-calculated maneuver. Lamina had expected an attempted evasion from the start, hence her strategy for assault, which was very likely to hit because of a few factors that had previously been taken into consideration.
This was a matter of speed and distance. As the trident swung overhead, Lamina dipped below the oncoming blade whilst simultaneously moving and leaning far forward in order to close the distance. This wasn't necessary to bring her in range for the strike; after all, her arm's extended length coupled with her 33" blade would have sufficed just as half the length of Az's trident did. This was to secure the hit, to severely reduce the opponents "wiggle-room" and void an evasion. While Az did step back, Lamina had already moved in, the sword closing in with both the combined speed of her forward motion and the swift extension of her right arm.
What did all this mean? It was highly unlikely that his retreat would be anywhere near fast enough to escape a fencer's lunge. The same held true with his pivotal motion and parry, as his body would have to accelerate into a clockwise twist, he would have to reverse the inertia of his left arm from a rightward swing to a sweeping parry in the opposite direction, all before the schiavona's tapered point could make the swiftest forward motion in a straight line to the opponent's body.
Whether or not blood ran down the length of her blade from it's prospective point of entry into whatever soft torso target it could find, Az had still thrown his body into the motion of the parry, which was more than likely to arrive too late to be of much use. In response to opposite end of the trident now coming for her, she locked out her right arm to brace against the swing as she allowed the tridents left upper pole to strike against the extended quillion of her basket-hilt. By trapping the end of his weapon by the forte of her own, she would succeed in stealing enough leverage to halt the weapons inertia. As this happened she arose quickly, using her left hand to help propel her from the ground, and with her upward motion she dashed her sword along the length of his trident, blade sliding against the shaft, in an unforgivingly quick and painful slice to the fingers of the nearest pole-wielding hand. Given the unexpected nature of the cut from a forceful parry, there was no telegraph to this and it would be astounding if Az ever saw it coming.
After all was done within the few seconds, she did not expect Az to continue unscathed, or at all for that matter.

It was over, as far as things seemed.
While one might cling to the hope of trapping a blade within one's own body, this was a misunderstanding that plagued many of her previous foes just seconds before defeat.
Az continued the pivot he had started, hoping that the centrifugal force applied to the blade's left flat coupled with the alleged resistance to withdrawing the sword would help wrench the weapon from Lamina's intended angle and parry.
What only an experienced slasher would learn for sure is that there was little, if any, friction between body and blade during a stabbing. Lamina's withdrawal of her thrust happened almost as quickly as the attack had been executed--commonplace for the proper fencer's technique. Blood oozing from the soft tissue of his body would help lubricate the slick metal surface on it's way out, and the mans twist would only serve to exacerbate his wound by cutting it against the flat of her blade as she maneuvered the hilt into position.
Her intention, at this point, was to stop the inertia of his swing and then raise and slice into the fingers. However, Az had protected himself from this second cut, inadvertently or intentionally was unknown, by continuing the force of his twist. By forcing Lamina to hold off the weapon that now shoved so hard against her, she was effectively prohibited the opportunity. Instead she held off against the trident just long enough for her to leap diagonally back and leftwards, out of range to receive or deliver more damage. She needed to give her opponent the opportunity to realize that he was going to die. The absolutely horrifying trauma and pain of being stabbed so forcefully in the torso was sure to take it's toll on the man's psyche, especially as he'd begin to feel his body quickly draining of tolerance and fortitude. Without excellent medical or magical intervention, the wound would prove quite devastating indeed.
Lamina now stared at the man with a cold emerald glare, dipping her crimson-stained sword lackadaisically to her side, allowing the blood to run down the metallic length of the blade and drip profusely into the sand below.
When she spoke, her voice was colder than her stare. Whatever emotional consequences came of watching a man die by her own hands was skillfully masked behind three icy words.
"So... any regrets?"